Ironhorse

83

The depot at Standley Station was small but sturdy. A rustically constructed building made of stacked stones and debarked post oaks with thick wooden shingles. Behind the depot was a small house, and behind the house was a narrow street with what looked to be about ten structures. There was some lamps burning inside a few of the buildings, but there wasn’t anybody moving about. Sitting on a dead-end track was the single coach Virgil and I had disconnected from the night previous and left on the rail five miles south of Standley Station.

Uncle Ted stopped the Ironhorse directly in front of the depot and set the brake.

I followed Virgil as he climbed down the steps of the engine and onto the porch of the depot, where the two men waited.

“Fellows,” Virgil said politely. “Who’s the railroad man in charge of this depot?”

“I am,” the older man said. “I’m Stationmaster Wesley Crowsdale. I’m also the minister here in Standley Station. This is my son, Wesley Junior. He’s the section gang foreman and part-time stationmaster.”

“This is Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch, and I’m Marshal Virgil Cole,” Virgil said.

Virgil made little eye contact with the men as he moved past them and peered into the windows of the depot. Virgil turned back and looked to Berkeley, who was climbing down from the Ironhorse.

“This is Burton Berkeley,” Virgil said. “Constable of Half Moon Junction.”

I moved past Wesley Senior as he looked to his son. The name Burton Berkeley added a slight narrow-eyed reaction and a frown from the old minister.

“We have heard of you, Mr. Berkeley,” said Wesley Senior.

“If what you heard was unfavorable, minister sir,” Berkeley said, “I assure you it no more true than our mother’s continence.”

I smiled to myself as I looked into the window of the depot. I glanced back to Wesley Junior and Wesley Senior, who was unsure as to what Berkeley meant, or even how to react.

“Mr. Berkeley, would you see to our horses?” Virgil said.

“Sure thing,” Berkeley said.

I moved to the south edge of the depot, where there was a desk placed in front of a corner window. Sitting on the desk was the key, relay, and sounder.

“What can we do to help you, Deputy, Marshal?” Wesley Junior said.

“Who’s the operator here?” I said.

“The both of us,” Wesley Senior said.

“Were one of you on the key last night?”

“I was,” Wesley Junior said.

“Does the telegraph line have any other connection into the town here?” I asked.

“No,” Wesley Junior said, shaking his head, “this is the only terminal we got here in Standley Station.”

“Were you here when the Northbound Express came through?” Virgil asked.

“I was,” Wesley Junior said. “What was left of it. It was just the hog and one wagon, that was it. Didn’t so much as even slow down, just come barreling through. A man was on the ladder just behind the tender and another man was on the back platform of the wagon. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You contact north to Tall Water Falls?” I asked.

“I did,” Wesley Junior said, “I got on the key right away and notified Tall Water Falls as to what I saw.”

“They contact you back,” I asked.

“They did, and then later they wired the hog and wagon did not show up.”

“You had any contact with them since?” Virgil asked.

“No. Just from Crystal Creek, that’s the next station up before Tall Water Falls. Crystal Creek wired this morning, they found the hog and wagon just north of them. It barreled through there, too, but seems the steamer went dry. The Crystal Creek section gang found the hog and coach this morning.”

Virgil lit a cigar and walked to the north end of the porch and pointed to the coach sitting on the team rail next to the depot.

“The folks that was in that car, did they get on the Southbound Express that came through here out of Division City a while back?”

“Matter a fact, they did,” Wesley Junior said.

“All of them?” Virgil said.

“Yes, sir.”

Virgil looked back inside the window of the depot as he walked to the edge of the building and looked down the street toward the town.

“And where are the dead?” Virgil said.

“You know about that?” Wesley Junior said.

Virgil just looked at Wesley Junior, with his cigar secured in the corner of his mouth.

Wesley Junior looked back and forth between Virgil and me and pointed.

“In that buckboard over there across the tracks by the river,” he said. “Good and down wind.”

Virgil removed one of the lanterns hanging from the porch pole.

“Let’s us go have a look-see.”